“That’s clever. I never would’ve come up with his,” I say honestly, probably because I feel naked without my jacket, plus I don’t like the idea of taking it off and showing the whole damn world my burn.Still, it’s the thought that counts. “Thanks.”
Not that I plan on using it. I’d rather sweat my balls off than part with Rory’s jacket when I’m not in the sanctuary of Stacey Finch’s bedroom. Taking my jacket off means severing that connection with my past—and letting my burn stand for my failures.
No, thanks.
Maverick slips the rope back over his head and holds it out to me, our hands brushing together as I take it. I don’t mean to jolt in surprise, but his hand is cold. Like really cold. Even colder than it was when he pressed it over my mouth to stop my screams last night. His skin is clammy, too. A dead man’s hand?—
The fire.
The flammable haze.
The spark.
The explosion.
“Hallie! Get down!”
A gasp, and then, “Xandra…”
A nightmare without closing my eyes or falling asleep and, suddenly, I’m wide fucking awake.
I give my head another clearing shake before pushing off of the hard ground. “Hey. I didn’t realize how much the temp’s dropped. Why don’t you warm up by the fire and get some sleep? I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”
“Really?” He lifts his head slightly. I can’t see his eyes, but the dark shadows from a sleepless night were there before the sun went down; he’s got to be tired no matter how much he tries to hide it. “I’m still good for a couple more hours.”
I think of the nightmares waiting for me should I fall back asleep.
“Really.”
Maverick snores. Loudly. I almost want to take the spare sock that isn’t hiding my antidote and stick it in his mouth to shut him up. Only the unexpected thoughtfulness he showed with the rope keeps me from taking my annoyance out on him.
Jesus Christ. Sounding like a freight train the way he does, I wouldn’t be surprised if he summons either lurkers or rogues to the small park where we’re hiding out tonight.
Instead of jamming his pie hole, I sit by the fire, throwing dry grass on the flames whenever it starts to dip too low. It’s become a little bit of an obsession with me now that I’m on watch. I refuse to be the one to let it go out again. In my way, I guess I just want to prove to Maverick that I can do something that he failed at.
Maybe then he’ll stop sneaking peeks my way, looking at me like he’s made a huge mistake by continuing to let me follow him.
It’s quiet in the park in the dead of night; with the exception of his thunderous snores, that is. I definitely was antsy at first that he would attract any dangers, but after an hour passes and my stomach is still calm, I actually start to appreciate the noise. If it were “drop a pin” quiet, the silence would drive me crazy. I would just be listening, convincing myself that I could hear a lurker’s plodding steps in the distance.
For now, I’m thinking.
The air is chilly and heavy with the promise of rain, but also undeniably fresh, and I breathe deeply, taking in the taste of September. There haven’t been many lurkers traipsing through this park; their putrid stench has a tendency to linger. He picked a great spot to get some hours down, and I allow my thoughts to wander.
Watching the moon move slowly across the night’s sky, I think about the Grave.
This is my second night away from home and it’s harder than yesterday was. Last night, I was tired from walking, plus the threat of the lurkers wasn’t as real as it is today after four or five of them nearly found us. The nightmare about Rory and Mom—and that flash of panic surrounding the night of the accident—makes me feel like a coward for leaving the settlement behind.
I couldn’t help it, though. There’s a reason why I had to get out of the Grave—and it wasn’t only because I believe in Maverick’s mission to kill as many lurkers as I can.
I would’ve used any excuse to get out. I pretend to be brave because it’s easy to kill a monster. But I haven’t just killed monsters…
I think of Jack and what he would say if I could tell him how I sensed the lurkers’ approach last night. I wonder what Chase is doing and, my traitorous imagination running away with me, I picture him lying in bed with Audrey, the nurse from St. Matthew’s.
Shit. I’m jealous. There’s no reason for me to be. I don’t even know if there’s anything between the two of them. I’m basing it all on the way she held onto his arm so proprietarily during the meet in the auditorium. I saw something there… but is it because he did move on, or because my guilt wants him to.
My guilt does. My jealousy does not.
Chase…
